MASS MURDER (8 page)

“I’m sure you’re right, but this is a murder investigat
ion and we have to consider all
possibilities.

The monk blinked once or twice and then licked his lips, leaving a layer of moisture behind
.
To Giorgio, his lips looked like two large glazed doughnuts
,
and he dropped his gaze to his notepad
.
He was hungry.

“Brother Frances arrived from San Francisco in August," Father Damian explained, "and Brother Julio in early September
.
He came from Chicago.”

Giorgio recorded the names and paused, waiting for the third
.
When he looked up, Father Damian was staring at him, the bushy eyebrows twitching like restless caterpillars
.
Finally, he relented.

“Brother Daniel arrived some six weeks ago from New York.”

Giorgio stood to leave. “Thank you, Father
.
We’ll also need to know where each monk was at the approximate time of the murder.”

Father Damian's long fingers grasped the edge of the table
.
“I can tell you where we all were
.
We had a nine o’clock prayer.”

“I’m sorry, Father, but the body was merely found at nine o’clock
.
We don’t know when the murder took place
.
Our job is to interview the guests tonight and as many of the monks as possible
.
It would help to have all of them stay in their rooms
,
and I’d prefer they didn’t speak to each other.”

Father Damian seemed to hold his breath in an effort to control his temper
.
When he exh
aled, he relaxed only slightly.

“I’m sure you believe these precautions are necessary
.
We’ll help in any way we can
.
However, I must tell you that this investigation must be
wrapped up within a few days.”

“Why is that?” Giorgio couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“The Bishop is scheduled to arrive next weekend
.
Everythin
g is on a fast track
, including repairing the cracks in the tower
caused by
last month’s earthquake
.
I daresay a murder investigation would not be to the Bishop’s liking.”

Giorgio was speechless
.
Under other circumstances, he would have assumed Father Damian was joking, but the man's face lacked any hint of humor
.

“Father, we don’t conduct murder investigations on a timetable.”

“I don’t think you understand, Detective
.
The Bishop is coming for a regional forum
.
He will be joined by about twenty
a
bbots from all over Southern California
.
Once the forum has begun, it cannot be interrupted
. S
o
,
I encourage you to complete your investigation as quickly as possible.”

“I make no promises, Father,” Giorgio stated flatly
.

He
left Father Damian and
met
Swan
at the foot of the stairs.

“Joe, we’ve found something interesting. One of the guests says she saw the victim arguing with someone earlier this afternoon. She didn’t know the man, but we have a description and will stay on it. And several people have already left the conference. I guess the dinner was optional.”

“Do we have a list of everyone who left, or perhaps isn’t staying here?”

“Yes. And the times they left.”

“Leaving the facility could just be a diversion. Who’s the conference chairperson?”

“A man named John Marsh. He’s still in the banquet
room. You can’t miss him. Tall,
with a mustache and a beard.”

“Okay. Keep at it, and Swan,” Giorgio stopped him, “where can I get that coffee?”

Swan’s normally placid face broke into a grin. “I’ll find someone. I recognize a star personality when I see one.”

Giorgio went back into the banquet room and spotted John Marsh sitting with a glass of wine. A short, bald man
was bent
next to him talking earnestly into one ear. Marsh had thinning gray hair
and
a sparse gray moustache and beard clipped close to a protruding chin. His head was much too small for his body, looking like the period at the end of a sentence. When Giorgio approached, the bald man moved a few feet away but leaned in their direction, listening intently.

“Mr. Marsh,
I need to ask some questions.”

“I’ve already talked with one of the uniformed policemen,” he replied, rubbing life back into his dull brown eyes.

“I’m a detective and need to hear the information for myself.” Giorgio glanced at the bald man who couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d held a small glass up to his ear. “Perhaps we could step into the lobby?”

Marsh rose reluctantly and they went into the lobby leaving the bald man to retreat to a corner alone
with
a look of abject disappointment on his face.
A long, dark-stained
wooden bench offere
d them a seat against the wall.

“You’r
e in charge of the conference?”

“I have a committee working with me, but I’m the chairman
…
was
the c
hairman,” he corrected himself.

Marsh slouched forward with his elbows across his knees. His dated tuxedo was too small
and
when he stretched his hands forward
,
the sleeves pulled up to expose
black and white cufflinks fashioned in the form of dice. Giorgio had the feeling he was still on stage and had merely changed plays.

“We’ve been planning the conference for over a year,” he said. “We announced the date and location at the closing dinner last y
ear. It’s sort of a tradition.”

“Tradition?”

“To build up excitement for the coming year. We usually include some gimmick. That’s why we’re all in costume. We scheduled a mystery game this year to promote next year’s conference in
Burbank
.”

Giorgio just stared at Marsh until he filled
in the blank look on his face.

“The movie studios,” he prompted. “We’re called the San Gabriel Writers’ Association, so we look for locations in the area conducive to an intensive two-day writing conference.”

“Are all of your guests writers?”

“Most of them
. B
ut out of the sixty or so who registered, we had six agents this year. We also have some fans who attend.”

“Fans?”

“Sometimes we have well-known authors who come and speak.”

“Ms. Olsen was an agent, not a writer or a fan?”

“That’s right,” he replied, stiffening at the mention of the dead woman’s name. “She came in the place of someone else.”

“Is it the usual practice that an agent would be replaced without telling you first?”

“No. We’re usually notified in advance. Sometimes that person will find a replacement, but often we’re faced with the task.”

“Did anyone know Ms. Olsen would be attending?”

“We were only told when she arrived. Of course, we were grateful Ms. Tomlinsen asked her to step in. Otherwise, a cancellation at this late date would have caused a problem. You see, we recruit agents who represent all sorts of works. Fiction, non-fiction, children’s books, mysteries, things like that. People sign up in advance to meet with the agents. Seven people had signed up to meet with Ms. Tomlinson.”

“Then Mallery Olsen and Beth Tomlinson handled the same kind of books?”

Marsh seemed to hesitate before answering. “Ms. Tomlinson handled a broad list. I assume Ms. Olsen did as well.”

“Do you have the names of all the people who interviewed with her?”

“I’m sure we can provide that. I’ll ask the Program Chair, Ms. Levinsky.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me that might be of help?”

“I didn’t know her myself.”

His dark eyes darted away
,
and he rubbed his large hands together as if he were wiping something sticky off his fingers
.
Giorgio
thought
he was lying.

“You never met her?”

“I introduced myself at the opening reception. She seemed pleasant enough. As chair of the event, I don’t have time to pay attention to anything but the details of running the conference. I’m afraid I can’t tell you very much.”  He said this rapidly, his face devoid of all emotion.

“Do you know of anyone who came late to the dinner tonight?”

He raised one hand to his chin
,
bringing attention to his
nicotine-stained
fingers
and long
fingernails
.

“I’m not quite sure, but I can find out. I’ll ask the woman who was in charge of the table arrangements.”

“Did you see anyone leave any
time before nine o’clock?”

Marsh gave a throaty laugh. “Detective, many people left the room all through the night. The bathrooms are down that hallway.”  He pointed behind the main staircase. “And the bar was set up out here.”

Giorgio rose
,
and Marsh took the cue he was free to go and
stood up
as well. “I’ll probably want to talk with you again.”

“I don’t check out until tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be sure you have my contact information.”

Although Marsh was a good five inches taller than Giorgio
,
he seemed ill at ease. Giorgio thought it was either the costume
,
or there was something Marsh wasn’t telling.

“Thanks for your help. I know this is very hard.”

“You have no idea. I just fear it will damage our reputation. We want this wrapped up as quickly as possible, Detective.”

As Marsh walked away, Giorgio was left thinking about the work that lay ahead. He would have to concentrate on searching through pages of useless information from hundreds of potential witnesses in order to find one needle in a haystack. It was a familiar process. As a boy, he’d excelled at putting together complicated puzzles. No surprise, he’d grow up to do it again.

Inside his coat pocket, his fingers found the strange button from the parking lot. He took it out
and studied
the outline of the ornate Latin cross stamped into the tarnished brass. Giorgio didn't believe in coincidences. This button
had come out of nowhere
, an
d it
meant something.
He just didn’t know what.